


A Conversation Between Celi & Sheriff Roosevelt

by Celi1208



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:14:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29411754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celi1208/pseuds/Celi1208
Summary: The sheriff tries to be friendly with Celi at the clubhouse, as she's the only African-American there.This is her response.
Relationships: Juice Ortiz/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	A Conversation Between Celi & Sheriff Roosevelt

PREQUEL

Sheriff Roosevelt was a good guy.  The type of guy to speak up when 

he didn’t agree with what was going  on around him. Every time he went 

by the clubhouse to put the newly  released members in line, there was Celi. 

Working her ass off in the kitchenette,  serving drinks, counting liquor inventory, 

you name it. Samcro was using  her as a glorified maid. 

As he called her over, he could sense  that she was more than annoyed 

at being called out but walked  toward him regardless. As he 

told her what he thought, trying to  bond with her. But her inner gut 

told her the words weren’t from  a cop, but from another pissed 

off Brother angry because she  left her “kind”. Of course he’d 

think that, he couldn’t see what  she saw in Juice. So she tried 

to say all she felt in the simplest  of terms so that he’d get the message.

“You’re wasting your time and  mine. But you’re right. He may 

be a criminal, but I LOVE that  criminal. From the bolts 

to the boots and everything  in between.”

(For this is what love does.  Injecting the soul with

impulses of abandon  and fever that resembles

varying degrees of  pleasured madness).

And with that she walked away.

POEM

A Conversation Between Celi and Sheriff Roosevelt

His words weren’t as a cop.  
Once running, they couldn’t stop.  
Running through the air like herds.  
Weren’t as a cop, his words.

He was baffled, couldn’t understand why.  
For all the money on Earth and clouds in the sky.  
Logic remained, dormant and addled.  
Couldn’t understand why….he was baffled.

He saw the Sista who had left her kind,  
leaving unity behind.  
For love of a different mister.  
Who had left her kind, he saw the Sista.

She could do better, he said.  
Hoping the words would stay in her head.  
Like a weighted, truthful letter.  
He said she could do better.

A biker and a criminal.  
Whose jail time was more than minimal.  
Instead of someone like her,  
a criminal and a biker.

She looked at him, in the eye.  
Her feelings for Juan Carlos anything but shy.  
Any respect she had for this person going grim.  
In the eye, she looked at him.

“I love this biker, from the bolts to the boots;  
love the outlaw and all the bullets he shoots.”  
“He’s a leather-wearing, chrome-riding striker.  
From the bolts to the boots, I love that biker.”


End file.
